


Omelas

by KoriMonster



Category: Sally Face (Video Games)
Genre: Animal Death, Freeform, Gen, Surreal, author muses about stories and mental illness and faith, some suicidal themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:28:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24993124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KoriMonster/pseuds/KoriMonster
Summary: Sal sometimes finds other children of prophecy in the dream realm. A young woman in another dimension is feeling the weight of it all, and Sal tries to help.
Kudos: 6
Collections: Banned Together Bingo 2020





	Omelas

Sal was dreaming again. Not his dreams either. Actually, he wasn’t sure where he was. He thought at first this was Ashley’s dream, or maybe Todd’s? But no. Ashley’s dreams were in black and white with only occasional splashes of color. This had started black and white, before abruptly snapping into color. Todd’s dreams had a weird number of clocks littered through them, and Sal hadn’t seen any here. Larry’s dreams always smelled of Lisa’s hair; and Sal's own were never this serene. 

Sal didn’t find himself in strangers’ dreams often. When he did, the person he found was never happy. Sometimes, when he was feeling tired and selfish, he woke himself up, to avoid the urge to help. But tonight, Sal was not tired at all, and he had already come so far into this strange scene. 

He wound his way further in, the slim gravel trail, lined with bare limbed trees and frosted over underbrush. The empty branches scrapped the sky, which was a cloudy, opalescent pink. This was Somewhere Else, Sal realized with a jolt. He’d only walked in other dimensions two or three times. Usually he sensed it right away. But, this was a dream, after all. Maybe things were different here. 

A perfectly round clearing appeared around him. At its center was a pond, and sitting, hunched and silent on its edge, was the dreamer. Sal walked closer, studying them. Brown hair. He had a feeling that, where they were from, brown was not a hair color. Sal sat on the snowy ground and leveled a look at them. They had warm, dark skin, dotted with mid-teens acne. They had their chubby arms wrapped around their legs, full cheeks wet with tears. They sniffed, continuing to stare at the pond. The dreamer was wrapped in a full, loose fitting sweater, the royal blue almost blinding in the wintery forest. Black leggings and bare feet, but they didn’t seem to notice the cold. Then again, Sal didn’t feel cold either. 

Sal didn’t look at the pond yet. He knew what his (possible) new friend was seeing; something horrific. He didn’t want to experience it just yet. Engage the dreamer first, he’d learned. It kept him from getting rattled by whatever he saw. “Hello,” he asked softly. “Did you call for help?” 

The person turned to look at him, slowly, sniffling. They had brown eyes too, a soft garnet under thick lashes and full, straight brows. “Who are you?” The dreamer asked, with no malice. Resigned yet curious, Sal figured. 

“I’m Sal,” he said. “I’m...I’m not from Here.” He couldn’t explain what sort of esoteric emphasis went into saying words Like That. It came to him instinctively and he understood it that way too. 

They studied him for a moment and said, “Yeah. I figured you weren’t.” 

“What’s your name?” Sal asked. 

“...I don’t know,” the person admitted softly. “It changes...but I know what it’s not,” they added, almost defensively. They thought for a few more moments and then said, “I think, right now, my name is Cassandra.” 

“Hi Cassandra. My name’s Sal.” He thought very, very carefully about his next question. “Cassandra...do you have a gender?” 

“I’m a girl,” Cassandra said immediately. 

“Wonderful. I’m a boy.” 

Cassandra looked away from Sal, back to the pond. Sal would only see it when he chose to; this wasn’t his dream, it was different for him. “Hello, Sal the Boy,” Cassandra said hoarsely, like she was going to weep again. “What are you doing in my dream...and in my dimension?” 

“I think I’m here to help you,” Sal said softly. 

Cassandra scoffed. “You can’t help me, Sal. No one can. I’m going to fail.” Her eyes never left the pond and he could see something reflected in them. 

Sal looked. 

The pond was filled with dead swans. Over a dozen of the brilliant white birds floated, lifeless, in the mirror like water. Their eyes had rotted out, tongues lolled from beaks, and feathers were starting to fall out. But no maggots; the rot was spreading rapidly, consuming them in mere moments. Sal knew that as soon as he wanted to. The dream could be nonsense but you’d always know what you needed to for the right emotion to come across. 

“Is the whole world like this?” Sal asked softly. 

“Yes…” Cassandra said. “And if I fail, thousands of other worlds die.” 

“You have to stop it?” He asked, already knowing the answer. 

“Yes,” Cassandra croaked, voice devolving to a tired sob. “My world was created to be a feeding ground. From its death and its decay will spring forth an avatar of a both; a force of nature beyond both humanity and the divinity.” Her voice was taking a strange cadence, a practiced roll. Sal knew that voice; this was her prophecy. “From this rotting world, the Pale Rider shall charge forth. He shall join his red brother, his white brother, and his black brother, and they shall ride across the universe. His blinding light will consume our sheltering darkness, and every world shall fall.” Cassandra looked at Sal. “No pressure, right?” 

Sal laughed bitterly, sadly, and shook his head. “I had to save the same world twice, I kinda know how it is.” 

Cassandra chuckled too, and swiped at her eyes with the back of one hand. “That why you’re here to help me, Sal? This stuff pretty easy for you now?” 

“It can never be easy,” Sal said gently. 

Cassandra’s smile died and she looked finally back at him. “It can’t, huh? Yeah. I figured.” 

Sal had a lot of different talks that he gave to people like this. Well, nott a lot, he really had three that he adjusted and varied depending on who he found in this situation. This situation, which had happened to him 7 times (8 counting Cassandra). That seems like a small number until you think about the fact he had found the young and frightened Chosen Ones from 8 different prophecies. 

The main talk, the one that worked the most often, was the Story Speech. That the universe itself ran on stories, and one of the most common ones was about saving the world (or saving something) from evil. That the story preferred to have Chosen Ones and Special Heroes at its heart. And that, for some reason, that story didn’t work if the Chosen Ones or the Special Heroes didn't suffer. If they weren’t sad or hurt or in pain. That her suffering was a necessary evil in the face of victory. But, Cassandra didn’t seem to need to hear that. 

Nor, he thought, did she need the angry commiserating speech. Mutual rage over how no one ever seemed grateful enough. How everyone judged so harshly. How there was no real reward for what they were doing. No castle at the end, no medal of honor, no parades or religion in your honor. How the reward was going back to _normal_ , and _fuck that_. How a truly evil part of you (because people like them always had evil parts, it seemed) thought about letting it all turn to ash out of sheer spite. Cassandra, Sal sensed, wanted the third, most delicate, and least practiced speech. 

“Look on the bright side,” Sal said. “Even if you fail, at least it’ll be over.” 

Cassandra burst into tears. Rough, hitching sobs that sounded like they’d been waiting weeks to come out. Sal let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He’d been correct. Cassandra began speaking through her sobs. “It’s all too much and it never goes away! It never goes away! I can’t ever stop working on it! It’s there all the time! All, the, time!” She screamed. “I feel like every moment I’m doing something else, I’m being, I’m being--” 

“Selfish?” Sal offered. 

“Yes!” Cassandra exhaled violently. “Selfish.” 

“You aren’t,” Sal told her. He didn’t see the swans anymore. He only saw the trees beyond them. And beyond the trees, a great walled city. So starkly white it hurt his eyes. “You’re not selfish for taking a break, and you’re not selfish for being okay with failing.” 

“It’s not--I’m not!” Cassandra protested. “It’s just...like you said. I could finally, rest, if it was _over_. No matter what, at least it’s over. I don’t have to do anything else…” She trailed off. “How is not selfish?” She asked him. 

“Because you don’t exist for other people,” Sal said simply. He stood up. No snow clung to him; this dream was not meant to feel real. “Even when you’re a Chosen One. Even when you’re a hero. You get to have a life and you get to be happy and you do not owe anyone, anything. Rest. Don’t give up, but keep yourself in your own possession.” Sal put his back to the white walled town, which he knew was called Omelas (and if the town wasn’t, Omelas would be the name of something here, something to do with Cassandra). “You did not ask for this. No one deserves this.” 

Cassandra was quiet for a moment. “Technically, I’m the most powerful person in existence. If I choose not to care, everything ceases to exist, right?” She murmured. 

“Yeah,” Sal confirmed. “That’s what it sounds like.” 

“Is being good harder than being evil?” Cassandra asked. 

“I don’t know,” Sal answered. “We’re not evil.” 

Cassandra closed her eyes. “Thank you, Sal,” she said after a few moments. 

“No problem,” Sal said, and started to walk away. “I have to go, Cassandra.” 

“Will you come back?” She called after him. 

“I have no idea. But I hope so. Maybe some day you’ll visit me!” He called back. 


End file.
